


want you so bad (it's driving me mad)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: kinktober 2017 [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Dorms, Established Relationship, Kinktober, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-17 21:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12374325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: When Derek asks, it’s while he has two of his fingers crooked directly against Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is absurdly close to coming all over his stomach and Derek’s other hand.“Could I rim you sometime?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 13 of Kinktober, using the prompt 'rimming' and day 15 of Inktober for Writers, using the prompt 'intimacy.' 
> 
> note: the rimming is more discussed than anything. title from [I Want You (She's So Heavy)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZMHfdKb5PM), which is originally by The Beatles, but I'm linking the Across The Universe version, because I have a Joe Anderson thing.

When Derek asks, it’s while he has two of his fingers crooked directly against Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is absurdly close to coming all over his stomach and Derek’s other hand. 

“Could I rim you sometime?” He presses the words into Stiles’ hip bone, follows them up with a sharp scrape of teeth that hurts in the most exquisite way possible. He says it quietly, almost casually, and it takes a few moments for the words to actually sink into Stiles’ brain, which is more than a little distracted by Derek’s damn hands working him apart at the seams.

But it sinks in, all at once, like plunging off a cliff into the icy waters of the ocean, and all it takes is the mere thought of Derek’s _tongue_ working him open to make him come with his teeth pressed deep in his lip and his fingers in Derek’s hair. 

Afterwards, once Stiles has cleaned himself off, stripped the sheets off his horribly narrow bed and remembered how to breathe normally again, he’s the one that brings it up. 

“Did you mean that?” he asks, drumming his fingers against Derek’s ridiculously defined stomach, lingering longest over the red and pink, splotchy hickies he sucked there an hour ago. “About rimming me, I mean.” 

It’s ridiculous, because even though he’s watched more hours of porn than is probably advisable, and even though he’s been sleeping with Derek for months, saying the damn words makes his face flush hot. 

Then again, this _is_ a next level of intimacy, somewhere they haven’t ventured yet, somewhere Stiles hasn’t ventured with _anyone_. 

Thinking about _that_ dimension to the question just makes his face grow even warmer.

“Yes,” Derek replies, rubbing his nose against Stiles’ temple, following it up with the soft press of his lips. “I want to. But only if you want to.” 

“Oh, I _definitely_ want to.” It’s a thought that has played out in Stiles’ mind before, usually when he has one hand around his cock, but that had just been a fantasy; the thought that said fantasy might actually have a chance of becoming reality, might actually unfold in screaming color, is enough to make his cock stir again. “Just maybe not here? I don’t think there’s enough room for you to really. Uh. Get down to it.” 

“True.” Just having Derek finger or blow him in the bed is awkward enough; in order for his legs to not be completely off the bed, he has to hunch over his own legs, and while he’s never protested, Stiles knows from being on the giving side of things that it’s not a comfortable position, at all. “Not to mention your roommate. And the thin walls.” 

“Listen, I’m sure the people in this place have heard worse than a few of my moans,” Stiles answers, reaching out and rapping his fist against the wall that Derek’s side is pressed against. “But yeah, definitely don’t need Isaac walking in on that. Or anyone, really, but especially not him.” 

“Isn’t he supposed to be back soon?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s no way that it’s already been two hours.” Stiles leans over and grabs his phone from the small nightstand, one of two shoved into the narrow space between his bed and Isaac’s. He has a few missed texts and notifications, but the most worrying thing is that it _has_ been just a little over two hours since Isaac left (which was followed minutes later by Derek arriving), which means that Isaac is going to walk through the door at any minute. 

Fuck. 

“We’re definitely continuing this conversation later,” Stiles says, catapulting himself away from Derek and off the bed and banging his shin on the nightstand in the process. “Put your shirt on and open the window. I need to find some new sheets. And my damn pants.” 

Isaac walks in just as Stiles settles himself onto his mattress, legs crossed, back against the wall, textbook open in his lap. Derek is in the same position, but with a notebook at his side and a nineteenth century horror novel cradled in his fingers. 

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles says, highlighting a paragraph at random. “How was class?” 

“Derek’s page is blank, and it reeks of sex in here,” Isaac answers, tossing his backpack into the corner and collapsing on his bed, feet dangling over the edge. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to care. Don’t wake me up.” With that, he flips onto his stomach, shoves his face into his pillow, and falls motionless. 

The thought of rimming is still much on Stiles’ mind, but this is definitely not the place and time to discuss it further, not unless he wants to get a pillow or book whipped at his face by his roommate. 

So he stays quiet and actually manages to get some studying done, even though every so often, he catches Derek’s eyes and immediately flushes red. 

Studying or not, he ends up spending most of the afternoon half-hard, which is _definitely_ Derek’s fault.

Later that night, after Derek has gone back to his place and Isaac has gone off for date night with his girlfriend, Stiles takes advantage of the solitude and gets himself off to the thought of Derek’s tongue and fingers delving inside of him. 

Twice.

Afterwards, once he’s cleaned himself up and changed the sheets (again), he sends Derek a text that reads **_can I come over tomorrow morning?_**

Moments later, he receives a reply. 

_a little eager, are you?_

Stiles can’t even be a little bit mad that Derek has immediately seen through him. 

He just _wants_ so badly.

**_shut up._ **

**_also yes._ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as requested: here is the actual smut!

Stiles wakes up early the next morning achingly hard and already keyed up. His dreams are rapidly fading away, but he’s willing to bet at least one (or two, or six) were about Derek licking him open. 

Thankfully, Isaac stayed the night at Allison’s, so Stiles doesn’t have to try and surreptitiously make his way down the hall to the bathroom so he can jerk off. He just kicks the blankets away and slides one hand into his boxers, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. 

When he’s done, he cleans himself off with the first shirt he finds in his laundry basket, and manages to pull on sweatpants and a baggy tee just in time for Isaac to come back, clutching an absurdly sized coffee from the shop around the corner. 

“You know, your timing is amazing,” Stiles says, grabbing his towel and shampoo from the cluttered shelf at the foot of his bed. 

“I don’t even want to know what you’re referring to,” Isaac replies, sinking down into his desk chair and groaning loudly. “I have four papers to write today, and I’m so hungover I can’t think.” 

“Well, the good news is that I’m heading to Derek’s in a bit. So you don’t have to worry about me making your headache worse.” 

“Thank God for small favors,” Isaac mutters, dropping his forehead down to the surface of his desk. “Can you close the curtains?” 

Stiles tugs the curtains closed with a crisp snap and heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Thankfully, all the shower stalls are empty, so he takes his time. When he heads back, Isaac is sitting in the dark and staring at a blank document on his laptop, headphones in, looking almost comically miserable. 

When he’s finished packing his overnight bag, Stiles stops long enough to give him a pat on the shoulder, which just gets him flipped off. 

Still, he at least _tried_ to be reassuring, and that totally counts as his good deed for the day. 

He grabs a bagel and coffee from the dining hall on his way out and tries to take his time walking over to Derek’s. It’s bad enough that Derek completely called him out in his texts from last night; he doesn’t need his eagerness to be any _more_ obvious. 

But still, even though he tries to dawdle, tries to kick every decent sized stone or clump of leaves that he sees, he still gets to Derek’s before ten o’clock. 

He can’t even remember the last time he _talked_ to Derek this early on a Saturday, let alone actually saw him. 

He takes the stairs up to Derek’s third-story walk-up two at a time and, seconds after he knocks, Derek answers the door in gray sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a completely shaven face, all signs of his beard from the night before eliminated. 

“Whoa,” Stiles says, bag sliding down his arm as he reaches up to smooth his palms over the planes of Derek’s cheeks and jaw. It’s not that he doesn’t love when Derek shaves (frankly, he basically loves Derek no matter what he does), but it’s rare that he goes _this_ clean shaven. “What’s the special occasion?” 

“I don't want to give you beard burn,” Derek replies, cheeks and neck faintly flushing red. 

It takes Stiles a few seconds to get it, because even if beard burn does kind of itch when it’s healing, there’s something about the way it marks him as Derek’s that makes him enjoy it. 

But that’s when it’s on his neck and the inside of his thighs. 

His ass, on the other hand, might be a different story. 

“That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me,” he teases, stepping inside and using his foot to kick the door shut. He lets his bag drop to the floor and steps into Derek’s arms, looping his own around Derek’s neck. “And it’s super hot.” 

“According to what you said the last time you were drunk, you think everything I do is super hot,” Derek replies, bumping his nose against Stiles’. There’s the barest hint of a cocky smirk flitting around his mouth, which is hot in its own right. 

“Hey, we’ve talked about this!” Stiles says. “You can’t use what drunk me says against sober me. Even if it’s true. Can I kiss you now?” 

“Eager,” Derek murmurs under his breath as he tilts his head down, and Stiles hates that there’s no amount of denying in the world that will make it not true. 

“Yeah, whatever, shut up,” he mutters, curling his hand around the nape of Derek’s neck and meeting him halfway in a kiss. 

They don’t stay in the hallway for long; when Stiles has to pull away to suck in a breath, Derek drops his hands to the backs of Stiles’ thighs and easily hauls him up, like he’s lifting nothing heavier than a bag of groceries. 

“You are _unfair_ ,” Stiles groans, locking his ankles together at the small of Derek’s back and ducking his head so that he can scrape his teeth along the line of his jaw as Derek walks them down the hallway to his bedroom. 

“If you came to the gym with me-”

“Intramural lacrosse is all the exercise I need, thanks. Well, aside from this,” he adds as Derek gently drops him down to the bed. He has enough foresight to kick his shoes off before he slides up the bed to rest his head against the pillows. “Now get down here.”

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t make any comments about eagerness this time. He just tugs his shirt over his head and carefully drapes it over the back of his desk chair before he climbs up onto the bed, slots himself between Stiles’ splayed apart legs, and picks up right where he left off. 

Stiles’ shirt doesn’t last much longer; the next time he has to breathe, he yanks it over his head and tosses it off the edge of the bed in a crumpled ball. The situation with his jeans is much the same; when Derek tucks his head into the crux of Stiles’ shoulder and throat and starts working a hickie into the skin there, his hands drop to Stiles’ waistband and make quick work of his button and zipper. He forces himself to stay still, to not try and help by kicking his jeans off; the last time he’d done that, he’d ended up kneeing Derek in a very unfortunate spot, which had _definitely_ been a mood killer. Thankfully, Derek doesn’t waste any time tugging the pants down his legs, and they join his shirt on the floor. 

“How do you want to do this?” Derek asks, pressing Stiles back down into the bed. He’s very clearly hard in his sweatpants, and when his dick brushes against Stiles’, Stiles momentarily forgets how to speak. 

“What will be easiest for you?” he eventually manages to say. He’s embarrassingly out of breath, and Derek has barely even touched him. Derek stays quiet for a moment, mulling the question over, but he doesn’t stay still; he lowers his mouth to Stiles’ collarbone and gently bites. It’s not even hard enough to leave a bruise behind, but Stiles still keens and winds his fingers into Derek’s hair. 

He’s long since given up on trying to hold back the noises Derek wrings out of him, no matter how unflattering they may be. 

“It might be better if you’re on your stomach. For the first time at least,” Derek murmurs, soothing the spot he bit with a firm kiss as he leans up and drops his forehead against Stiles’. “If that’s okay with you.” His front teeth start worrying at his bottom lip slightly once he finishes talking, and Stiles’ heart skips a beat. For all of Derek’s occasional bravado, his casual sureness (like the way he’d effortlessly asked Stiles if he could rim him the day before), he’s still nervous, and it makes Stiles ache with fondness that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, using his thumb to pry Derek’s lip away from his teeth before he can do any damage to himself. “More than okay with that, actually.” If push had come to shove, that was the position he was going to suggest. It’s not the only option by far, but he’s not quite sure if he’s ready to be on his back, legs pulled up to his chest. 

That might be _too_ intimate, at least for now. 

Besides, while he’s more than happy with Derek hearing his noises, he doesn’t want to put on a show for the neighbors, so it’s probably a good thing if he has his face shoved in a pillow. 

“Okay.” Derek’s palms run down his sides to settle on his hips, on the band of his boxers. He uses one finger to twang the elastic against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles lightly smacks him in the shoulder in retaliation. “You ready?” 

“One second.” Stiles uses his grip in Derek’s hair to pull him back down to his mouth. There’s no telling how long he’ll have to wait to kiss Derek again, so he wants to get his fill. 

Thankfully, Derek seems to get the message; by the time he pulls away, Stiles’ chest is aching with the need to breathe. 

“Now are you ready?” Derek asks, bumping his nose against Stiles’. Stiles nods, and Derek skims his hands back down to his boxers and tugs them down his legs. After flicking them over the end of the bed, he runs his palms back up Stiles’ legs, runs his thumbs over the creases where his hips meet his thighs. 

“You going to let me roll over?” Stiles asks, swallowing heavily. It doesn’t matter that he’s long lost count of how many times he’s been totally naked around Derek; the way that Derek looks at him, open and unguarded and _fond_ , never fails to make him shudder in the best of ways. 

“Go for it.” 

While Stiles scrambles onto his front, Derek reaches up and grabs one of the throw pillows mingling with his actual sleeping pillows. Once Stiles is settled, he taps at his hip, and Stiles arches up so that Derek can slide the pillow into place. Thankfully, the material isn’t rough, but his cock still twitches when it brushes against it, and he bites back a groan as he grabs another pillow to slot underneath his head. 

Not being able to see Derek unless he cranks his head back over his shoulder does have some advantages (mainly, he can’t see the look Derek is almost certainly giving him, which means he can’t fall into a full body blush), but the disadvantage is that he has to rely on the shifting of the mattress to figure out what Derek is doing when he’s not actually touching him. 

The mattress squeaks and then the room falls silent for what feels like an absurdly long time. Stiles tries to remain still, but the silence grows and grows until he can _feel_ it, and he moves his legs further apart just to hear _something_. 

“You alright?” he asks, trying to ignore the swirling pit of anticipation and nerves in his gut.

“I’m fine,” Derek replies, sliding forward between Stiles’ spread legs and dropping his hands to the back of Stiles’ thighs. “I just want to make sure this is good for you.” 

“Derek,” Stiles says, reaching an arm back until he can awkwardly tangle his fingers together with Derek’s, “it’s going to be good. I trust you.” He squeezes Derek’s fingers tightly before he tucks his arm back under his head.

The mattress squeaks again, and Derek’s hands smooth up to his ass and squeeze lightly. 

“Okay.” 

That’s all the warning Stiles gets before Derek leans down and swipes his tongue against his hole. 

At first, it’s definitely a little strange. The feeling of Derek’s tongue licking him open is unlike anything he’s ever experienced, and the sound is so filthy that, even though he’s watched enough porn to know what to expect, his cheeks still flush burning red. 

But as he continues, alternating between broad strokes and smaller, more precise movements, the strangeness, both the physical and mental kinds, completely melts away. When Derek presses one of his fingers in and licks around it as he crooks it upwards, just barely skimming against Stiles’ prostate, Stiles has to shove his face completely into the pillow so that the neighbors don’t hear him cursing. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as Derek starts carefully working a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch is more than it is when they’re using lube, and he doesn’t think taking three would be very comfortable, but for the time being, it feels _incredible_ , and his stomach muscles are already fluttering and clenching, even though he hasn’t touched his cock yet. 

“You’re okay?” Derek asks, voice raspier than usual, fingers scissoring apart slowly. 

“God, yeah,” Stiles answers, propping himself up on his elbows and sliding one hand between his body and the mattress so that he can wrap his fingers around his cock. “Can I?” 

Derek groans and presses a hard kiss to the base of Stiles’ spine, fingers crooking more firmly. 

“Yes. Please.” He sounds wrecked, like he’s the one getting rimmed, and after a few seconds, Stiles realizes that not all of the wet sounds that he’s hearing are the result of Derek licking him open. 

The knowledge that Derek is actually getting off on making him feel good, combined with the way his fingertips are rubbing against Stiles’ prostate, means that he barely tugs his cock three times before he comes over his hand and stomach, teeth pressing into Derek’s pillow so that he doesn’t yell too loudly. 

After Derek slowly withdraws his fingers, Stiles remains on his stomach for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. When he flips onto his back, cautiously so that he doesn’t kick Derek, it’s just in time to see Derek come onto his hand and abs. For a few moments, he stays on his knees, hand slowly stroking, eyes closed and head tilted back towards the ceiling, so goddamn attractive that Stiles wants to pinch himself and make sure that he’s not dreaming. 

When he comes back down, eyes slowly fluttering open, he looks down at the mess dripping from his hand and groans. 

“I _just_ changed these sheets.” 

“Hope you have extras,” Stiles says, sitting up and gesturing at the pillow he was biting and the one that was underneath his hips. “Hope you have extra pillowcases for those too.” 

“I do, thankfully,” Derek replies, wiping his hand off on his sweatpants and stepping off the bed. “Did you want to shower? I just need to brush my teeth first.” 

“A shower sounds great. I’ll be nice and strip your bed.” 

“Such a gentleman,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and ducking when Stiles throws a (clean) pillow at his head. 

“Yeah, whatever. You love me.” 

&.

Once the bed is stripped and Derek has brushed his teeth, Stiles gets the shower going, fiddles with the knobs until it’s the perfect temperature (which means there’s steam filling the room and his skin is red as a lobster). Derek joins him a few minutes later and presses his front flush with Stiles’ back. 

“So that was good?” he asks, rubbing his cheek (which is already starting to get stubbly again) against the back of Stiles’ neck and winding his arms around Stiles’ waist. 

“Good definitely isn’t a strong enough word,” Stiles answers. “I was thinking more like amazing.” Tilting his head back so it’s resting against Derek’s shoulder, he continues, “Can I try it on you sometime?”

Derek groans and gently bites the back of Stiles’ neck, cock twitching against Stiles’ ass. 

Stiles grins. 

He’s definitely taking that as a yes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to write a second part to this, with actual rimming, but the super smutty part was not cooperating today, so here, have this.
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
